


the memories will wane, the aftershocks remain

by curiouscorvid (prometheanTactician)



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Burns, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers, descriptions of burning alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 14:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15269250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prometheanTactician/pseuds/curiouscorvid
Summary: burning alive is a hard thing to forget





	the memories will wane, the aftershocks remain

**Author's Note:**

> So basically now that we know the Apprentice burned alive in the Lazaret, I thought... what if that left them with a fear of fire? I know my apprentice, Zephyr, would have trouble shaking those impressions.

It was a shock, honestly, that the reanimation had gone so smoothly. Memories may have been lost, but the personality was intact. Zephyr was still the gentle, kind soul he'd always been. A little skittish, a lot nervous, but eager to overcome those feelings for others in need. It was a weight off of Asra's shoulders, though there were other weights to take its place. Zephyr still didn't remember him, and possibly never would. But it hadn't been long, he reminded himself. That might change.

It probably wouldn't, but at this point he had to hope.

Zephyr had always been a skilled magician. Moreso than Asra, if you asked the latter. Zephyr himself would always deny as such. It wasn't surprising when he started picking back up all the things he'd already known as if he'd never forgotten. Maybe, deep down, he hadn't. Maybe a part of him remembered the spells, the concoctions. Maybe the muscle memory remained for how to more efficiently use a mortar and pestle. Maybe the instinct lingered for when a brew should be removed from the fire.

The fire. That was one of the biggest problems they faced. Flame was an unavoidable part of their lives. Cooking, warmth, lighting, magic... All things that required a fire of various sizes. The reaction had been almost perceivable at first. Maybe to someone who didn't know Zephyr as well it wouldn't have been so obvious, but Asra knew how the other magician so loved scented candles and incense, and noticed the way he now cringed at the sight of them or at even the slightest smell of smoke. Asra avoided lighting things now, when it wasn't strictly required for a spell.

Other things were less subtle. Whenever Asra lit the fire to cook a meal, Zephyr would quickly leave the room. Through the winter even as he shivered and shook from cold, he insisted through chattering teeth that he was fine and did not need to approach the hearth. When a spell required something to be burned or dropped in a boiling pot, he'd pretend he didn't know how to do it and ask Asra to show him, as though the other magician didn't notice the way Zephyr's hands trembled the moment the smoke began to rise.

But Zephyr could never stand to be a bother. Even before everything had happened, he'd go out of his way to ensure no one put themselves out on his account. If he knew everything people had done for him, that Asra had done for him, he'd likely lose his mind over it. Asra knew this. He knew this, and he should have expected this would happen. He should have known there would come a moment where Zephyr would decide that it was ridiculous to keep acting ignorant to avoid approaching the flames himself, to keep making Asra do it for him. He should never have turned his back to the flame with Zephyr standing right next to it, both of them knowing that someone needed to drop a herb in the boiling pot. Asra had every intention to do it himself. He just needed to ensure they had the remaining ingredients on hand, then he'd turn back around and do it himself. But when he turned back around, he froze as he saw Zephyr pick up the herb with a violently shaking hand, his eyes somehow both intensely focused and far away at the same time.

Asra watched. Zephyr wasn't in danger, and Asra wasn't going to coddle them to the point of preventing potential progress they wanted to make for themselves. He watched. Zephyr released his grip on the crushed leafs in his hand. Easy as that, they dropped into the boiling water without problem. Zephyr exhaled, and neither of them had realized he'd been holding his breath, letting out a shaky laugh. He'd done it. It was awful, it terrified him for reasons he didn't understand and sent his entire system into a panic. But he'd done it.

After that, Zephyr seemed to do better with fire. He was still wary, still anxious, still gave flame a wide berth and hated the feeling of the heat on his skin, but it wasn't nearly as debilitating has it had been before. Asra had even caught him lighting his scented candles again with an expression almost like relief. Like he was glad he could enjoy them again, though he couldn't remember a time when he had. He also couldn't remember the event that caused him such a dire fear of fire, which was for the best. But Asra remembered. Asra knew. Or, rather, he suspected. He hadn't been there to see his friend in the Lazaret, surrounded by other screaming victims and still corpses, all facing the same fate as the inferno consumed them. He hadn't been there to see the flesh bubble and burn. He hadn't been there to hear how Zephyr had _screamed-_

He hadn't been there.

So at first he hadn't known for sure that Zephyr had been alive when he was burned. He had comforted himself with platitudes of 'he was probably already dead, he hadn't burned alive, at least there's that.' But that no longer held up. It was clear now, to him, what had happened.

Then came the night it all came to a head. A meal was being made, Zephyr finally feeling able to do it himself and seeming quite content to finally be contributing (though Asra insisted he already had been contributing.) He was humming a soft, happy tune that had Faust swaying where she was wrapped up around his shoulders. Asra so loved to watch them together. Seeing Faust so at ease with his friend felt like validation, that all of this had been worth it, that it hadn't been selfish. Zephyr was happy. Faust was happy. If that was the only good to come of it, it would be enough.

Then Zephyr's hand slipped. His palm landed on the lip of the pot and his entire body went stiff. Even before Zephyr reacted, Faust's alarm rang through both of their minds and Asra was already moving forward. Even before the panic started in earnest, somehow everyone in the room knew where this was going.

Zephyr jerked his hand back, dropping the spoon with other to clutch at his wrist with white knuckles. His eyes were locked on the burnt flesh, tears springing to wide eyes unnoticed as his breathing began to come in quick, sharp bursts.

"No-" He whispered, choked as Asra reached him- reached out to him. "No, no no no no-" He shook his head, unsure what he was denying but knowing he had to all the same. Gentle hands settled on his shoulders.

"Zee?" A soft voice. Familiar. Safe and comforting, washing over him like a wave of relief despite the spreading sensation that he was burning up. The burn was only on his hand, but his mind was yanked violently into somewhere dark and too hot, too sharp, too painful- "Zephyr."

He was sitting down. When had he sat down? Had Asra led him to a chair-?

Asra. 

Zephyr looked up from his scalded hand.

"Zephyr," the concern in those purple eyes was enough to nearly choke Zephyr. He couldn't imagine how Asra was weathering such intense emotion so well. "It's alright. You're okay. Come back to me." One hand still on his shoulder, but Zephyr felt the other on his cheek, wiping the tears that had fallen.

"I was burning-" He wasn't sure how he thought Asra would react to that, but the guilt that crossed his face was baffling to him. "I was _burning-_ Asra, I-" His voice failed him as he struggled to understand the implications behind his own words. When had he been burning? He didn't remember burning- and yet, he did. It took his companion a moment to gather himself enough to answer.

"... I'll fetch something for your hand." He decided quietly, eyes downcast. Then he was gone. Zephyr almost began to choke on the sudden surge of panic, but a cool, gentle prodding against his cheek caught his attention as Faust tried her best to offer slithery comfort.

_Friend._ She said. _Safe._

"Safe?" Zephyr repeated, voice breaking on the word. Faust licked out her tongue for a moment then bobbed her head up and down. 

_Safe!_

It made him smile, shaky and fragile as it was. Then Asra returned, though he didn't seem to have anything with him. Zephyr regarded him with no small amount of confusion as he crouched back down in front of him and took his hand with unfathomable tenderness. He said nothing. He simply hovered his other hand above the burn, a glow spreading from his own hand to his patients and bringing a soothing energy with it. Almost immediately, the pain receded. Zephyr sighed in relief, closed his eyes and collected himself. Already he was feeling better, without that burning pain in his hand making him feel like every inch of his skin was boiling.

"...Thank you, Asra."

"Please don't th-" He caught himself, stopped and reworded. "You don't need to thank me." He whispered, not meeting Zephyr's eyes. He did not release the hand.

"It's my fault, though. I was clumsy and I should've been paying better attention. I didn't mean to cause such a fuss over something so... small, and you didn't have to humor my drama. But you helped anyway. Thank you."

Asra looked like he'd swallowed something sour, and very much as if he wanted to argue against that vehemently. But he said nothing. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his friends forehead.

"Some hurts run deeper than can be seen." He whispered, pulling away reluctantly to meet Zephyr's eyes with a sudden intensity. "Nothing that eases your pains, no matter what they are, could ever be a burden to me."

The apprentice was at a loss for words. There was a feeling within him that the correct response would be to lean forward and capture his masters lips, but...

But that would be inappropriate. He wasn't sure why that seemed like a good idea. Instead, he smiled sheepishly.

"I appreciate it. I hope you know, though... I don't know exactly what I have to offer you, but if you ever need anything, even just someone to listen..." He hesitated, always so shy with genuine emotions. "...If you insist on easing my pain, then I would like to help with yours as well. As much as I can."

Finally, finally, Asra smiled.

"You already do." He assured, and the bottomless adoration in his eyes stole Zephyr's breath away all over again. That feeling returned. That this was a moment for a kiss. It felt so right, so natural, that that would be the conclusion to this event.

It took every ounce of control Zephyr had not to act on it. But instead he reached out with his newly healed hand to rest on Asra's cheek, leaned forward and pressed a kiss on the other one. Even that felt too intimate, like he was crossing a line, but when he pulled back Asra was looking at him with something between longing, wonder, and agony.

Neither of them slept well that night.

It was another two months before Zephyr tried cooking again.


End file.
